//------------------------------//
// Part 2: But Close Enough 
// Story: Evil Ways 
// by HeatseekerX51 
//------------------------------//

APPLEACHIA FAMILY FARM

In short order I found myself in a washtub. To say I stunk of death was no mere convenient turn of phrase, and I would not be offended if the kind family did not think that parts of me had in fact succumbed to gangrenous rot. Nor was I under the steadfast impression that the washing was wholly an act of charity, rather I suspected a fear that I might carry some pestilence that might infect their animals. They at least took the consideration of setting the large tin tub in the back of the house under the shade of an overhang. 

“Thar’ ya go Mr. Wanderlust.” The lady of the house said as she dumped the final pail of water over my head. Honeycrisp was a thin-faced mare, with a very slight orange hued coat, brown mane, and possessed of the most serious green eyes I had ever encountered. Her Cutie Mark was an apple slathered with a layer of honey on top, more proof that whatever deity dispenses our icons isn’t always the most creative. Though he does have his moments. 
“We ain’t got too much water to spare, but uh, you go ahead and wash up.” She said, nudging a stool closer to me, on it was a bar of soap and scrub brush. “You seem in sore need. No offense.” 

“Oh, none taken. Thank you.” I told her truthfully. As she walked away and left me to my hygiene, I took the soap and began to lather up. A monumental task before me, I glanced about the property as the suds accumulated, taking note of the harshness of the conditions. It looked as if somepony had built the farm on a plot of land long suffering some drought. I also saw a part of the orchid that spanned to the east and continued out of view over the crest of a hill. If water were such a scarce resource, how could they afford to maintain this many trees? I endeavored to ask. 
The house itself was rustic, the picturesque example of western homesteaders. Sun-baked timber planks, tiled roof with a lone chimney poking towards the sky, a testament to the heartiness of the family. 
The scrub brush would have its work cut out for it. Once properly soaped, I held out hope that the bristles would be made of stern enough stuff to withstand the crucible I was about to put them through. In light of such hospitality, I’d hate to return it by destroying what they had kindly lent. All manner of dirt and small detritus had lodged themselves into my fur, not to mention the tiny critters that had plagued me since awaking. 
I was finished scouring my face and moving onto the neck when I noticed a pair of heads poking around the corner of the house, not much more than sets of eyes under a bush of mane. 
“Hello there.” I invited, but the spies quickly ducked back out of sight. Upon receiving me earlier, the family had introduced themselves. The husband was named Huckleberry, an affable light blue stallion with a shade of blonde hair under a stetson. He seemed friendly, welcoming me with a tip of the hat to the farm. He then presented his wife, his older son named Mesquite, and a set of twins, a colt named Jonahgold and a filly named Sunnybrook. It was these two little tykes that I surmised had taken a careful interest in me. I was previously certain that more children had been present when I had arrived, but then again my mind had been broiling for a number of days. 
There was also the grandfather, Huckleberry’s sire who had remained silent throughout. I was passingly told his name was Deadwood, and judging by the grim inspection he gave me, the name was an apt one. It was further explained that the infirmity brought on by age had stolen his ability to speak without the suffering of great discomfort.  
Again the logistics of the farm presented an enigma to me. This was a decent sized family, on acres of land with many trees to look after. How could this be on such a starved estate? 

“Hey there partner.” Approaching me was Huckleberry, a towel draped over his back. “Thought you’d need this when you were done.” He glanced at the water in the tub, and seeing the murky texture it had taken on, seemed politely taken aback. “However… long that takes.”

“Much obliged.” Said I, using my magic to move the towel to the stool. “And I don’t think soaking in this brine any longer than necessary would be very helpful. I’d like to repay you for your family’s charity, tell me, what kind of work do you need done around here?

He smiled a bit and lowered his hat in deference. “Aw shucks mister, you ain’t gotta worry about none ah’ that. Doing the right thing should be its own reward.” 

While working the brush down the back of my neck, I couldn’t help but appreciate his genuine character. In all the many places I had gone to, it was always a very fine thing to encounter ponies of such simple virtue. 
“I wager I’ll find something yet.” I told him with a bit of mirth. “But you can at least satisfy my curiosity.”

“’bout what?”

“The farm here…” I gestured towards the fields, where the sun beat down mercilessly on the trees. “I’d think raising a crop this large would require a lot more water than what you seem to have.” 

Huckleberry walked over and sat down against the side of the house in the shade. “Well the farm’s old, been in my wife’s family for generations. Says her granpappy told her it was from way back when Earth Ponies first started settling Equestria right after the great win’er. I grew up not too far, used to be a river cut through these lands, coming down from the hills, my folk lived on the opposite side. Honeycrisp’s an only child, inherited the property when her parents passed. Since she ain’t had nopony to help her out, I started working for her. S’how we met.
Anyways, I tell ya all that to say that back then, this land was plenty watered. When the river dried up, all the other farms in the area dried up too. All my family’s berry crops went to dust, so did the Carota family, them started pulling up carrots so thin you’d pick yer teeth with ‘em. 
Now there ain’t but a deep well on the edge of the property to get our water from. Our yield got cut down to a third, jus’ couldn’t haul up enough water for all them to drink.”

“What happened to the river?” I asked, stunned to hear of the plight that had stricken in so short a time. The encroaching desert might have played a part, but that would have been much longer a process. This sounded like only a few years had passed. 

“Something up in them hills went bust.” He said, motioning towards the ridgeline to the southeast. “Slowed down to a stream, then to a trickle, then just plain nothing.”

“I know what happened!” We both craned our necks around to see Honeycrisp putting down a basket of laundry, getting ready to pin them to the line that was strung for several yards from the corner of the back porch. 
“It’s that grain mill that was built up there! Stole all the water right out from under our noses!” Her anger was profound, the words spitting from her mouth with all the bile of a mare being robbed of her birthright. 

“Now Honey, you know that ain’t never been proven.” Huckle interjected, rising to his hooves to join her over the basket. “He built that mill on the opposite side, used a different river.” 

“And you think it’s just a coincidence? He builds that plant, and all of a sudden our water goes dry? That greedy crook put farms outta business! Farms that been putting food on ponies tables for centuries! And he get’s away with it because he puts bits in all the right pockets ‘ah those politicians in Rock Creek.”

Scrubbing the brush along my back, I found the discomfort of being present for the expression of such raw nerves for this mare to be tempered by my curiosity. Needless to say, I lacked the boorishness to insert my own commentary into the matter while sitting in a stew of my own filth. 

Huckleberry spared me one last apologetic glance before he let the matter rest with a sigh. They proceeded to hang the laundry and share a few hushed words between them while I finished bathing. If one could classify the repeated process of using increasingly murky water to clean myself bathing. 

Afterwards I did feel much better, certainly less itchy sans all the dust and mites. As I was stepping out of the tub and drying myself off, I noticed Honeysuckle approaching my saddlebags. 
“These some fancy kits you got mister. Seems a shame to see ‘em in such a poor state.” She made to pick them up, but I cast them in my magic, sliding them out from under her. It must have seemed terribly rude in the moment, but politeness was not my immediate concern. “Sorry..” I told her, slipping them on and giving her a sheepish smile in admission of guilt. “Being a nomad, I’ve become rather protective of my things. And you are right, these are of particular quality, and quite dear to me.” 
Honeycrisp shrugged. “Didn’t mean to cause a fuss. Jus’ thought they could stand a bit of care is all.” 
Her observation was of course, supremely accurate. I had neglected to give my bags a good cleaning in a long time, and they had accumulated a dismaying amount of grime. But it was a precarious process to maintain them, a task I dare not endanger her with. 
“Please forgive me, I’m sentimental. And if it’s all the same, I’d like to keep my personal effects… personal.”
“Suit yerself.” She said, dismissing the issue as she headed into the house, pausing on the steps. “You can empty that tub right where it is, and lean it ‘gainst the wall to dry out. If yer hungry, I’ve got some apple cakes in the kitchen, hold ya over till supper.” 
At the mentioning of the treats my mouth began to water, such was my famishedness, that I became silent with the thought of enjoyment. She must have perceived this. “I’ll warm a few up.” 

With hopes of baked sweetness on my mind, I gleefully turned to take care of the tub. There, I saw, peeking over the rim and examining the brown soup, were Jonahgold and Sunnybrook, fascinated by how I had transformed the clear water by merely sitting in it. 
“Hey.” I said, in a voice no louder than I would use to approach a rabbit. But their heads shot up in startled panic, and side-by-side they raced away before I could speak another word. 
“Hmm.”

The apple cakes were as delicious as anypony might have dreamed they could be. Then again, I was perhaps quite at a disadvantage given my recent condition. I suppose three-day old fish cakes might have tasted as sweet. In retrospect that thought was misguided, the cakes truly were in fact, of sublime quality. 
Having reheated them for a short time in the oven, she extracted them on a pan before sliding them onto a plate for me. They were simple in design, being a thick disk of cake with a layering of sugar glaze on top. 
“If such a divine creation never graced my senses again…” I said in between mouthfuls. “Then may the pillars of the earth crumble for want of something so dear.” 
“Thanks?” Was all she offered in response. 

After washing them down with a glass of water, it was sometime thereafter that Huckleberry returned, coming into the kitchen with an air of displeasure. 
“That dern boy!” He spat, kicking the door closed behind him. 
“What is it baby?” Honeycrisp asked, concerned but not sounding too surprised. “What’s he done now?”
“It’s what he ain’t done that’s the problem! He said he was gonna fix that wheel this afternoon, so I go out to see for myself, and he ain’t nowhere to be found. That wagon’s still sitting in that sinkhole, wheel all busted up.”

“My new friends.” I began, rising from the table. “If it’s all the same, I can help you with your broken wheel.”

The pair shared a contemplative glance. “Well that’s right nice of you, Wanderlust.” Huckleberry said. “We need that wagon to haul the buckets of water back from the well. Them trees can’t go too long in this heat without.” 

“Then your wagon will be back on the job before sunset.” I promised with a nod. 

Heading out into the fields, it was a short walk over the hill and down amongst a plane of wheat stalks where he led me to the incapacitated cart. A whole diagonal side was tilted downwards into a ditch, the opposite end pointed skywards The wagon itself was larger than I had expected, though I might have anticipated that fact, given that neither father or son Earth Pony had simply pulled it free yet. Huckle and I crouched down at the edge to get a closer look. Indeed the wheel at the bottom had been smashed upon impact, crushed under the sudden surplus weight that was thrust upon it. 
“Mesquite says he was bringing it back from the well when the ground just fell away underneath him. I think he was just daydreaming and didn’t notice. That boy’s had his head in the clouds the past couple weeks.” 

I became suspicious of the coincidental nature of the event, assuming the boy’s explanation was true. My recent encounter with the Diamond Dogs was foremost in my mind, and I feared that his son had narrowly avoided being ponynapped. But I didn’t want to put any terrible ideas in his head unnecessarily, so I decided to keep the notion to myself for now, at least until I had better evidence than just a hole in the ground. 
“Well, let us begin.” 
I cast my magic around the encumbered corner and began raising it free, pushing the entire carriage backwards and clear of the pit. 

“We get this thing back to the house, and I can get to fixin’ it.” He said once it was settled on level ground. Upon further inspection we noticed that the foreleft corner was also damaged, the result no doubt of where it had struck against the side of the pit. The front axel as well was broken, snapped near to where it jointed to the center of the wheel. 
“Uh…” The farmer groaned. “This’ll take a little longer than an afternoon. Sorry partner, but it looks like you ‘gone have to break your promise.”

“Undone by a broken axel? Perish the thought!” Together, we secured the harness around his back, and keeping the impaired section aloft in my magic, steered the wagon back to the farm. The return journey took us the better part of a half-hour, making polite conversation along the way. 

“So what brings you through these parts anyway?” He asked. “Kinfolk? Ain’t much else worth the trouble ‘round here.” 

“Artifact hunting, believe it or not.” I told him, going on to briefly recount my locating the treasure horde and my troubles with the dragon that guarded it. “After evading it’s hunt, I tried to make my way through the desert for a few days. I had lost my water skin, so you can imagine my trek was quite parching. If Hex not found me and brought me to my sense, there might be a pack of very satisfied buzzards waddling about the sands this moment, their bellies full of roasted unicorn.” 

The story must have been one that my companion thought fantastical, for he went on in silence for a minute before inquiring again. 
“Geesh, I ain’t never heard’ah nopony getting the best of a dragon before, least not one that lived long enough to brag about it.”

“I certainly would recommend against it.” 

“What’d you say you was after again? Some kinda necklace?” 

“The Alicorn Amulet.” I had spent years hunting that infernal creation down, and was beginning to think the relic was not in Equestria as I had been led to believe. “I feel like I’ve wasted a lifetime trying to find it.” 

“Sounds special.” Huckle was clearly interested, but beyond his depth. “Is it supposed to do something? Grant you powers?”

“The Amulet is power, fueling the wearer with its intoxicating effects, and yes, granting them abilities beyond their normal capacity. But the Amulet has a will of its own, corrupting the bearer with every action and every thought. Eventually the pony is rendered a slave to the amulet’s dark will, serving its interests, driven into madness until at last the amulet desires a new victim.” 

“And what uh… What would your intentions for it be?” I could hear the nervousness in his voice, suddenly unsure what kind of character his family was hosting. I’m sure he must have feared the possibility that he was in the company of an aspiring villain, and he the unwitting participant in my rise to infamy. Fortunately for him and everypony else, I had the exact opposite in mind.

“I intend to destroy it, once and for all, and rid Equestria of its cancerous presence.” 

“Well… I reckon that’s probably fer the best.” 

Arriving back at the farm, we stowed the wagon in the barn, using a winch from the rafters to hold the corner up for us to repair. Using some surplus planks of wood that he provided, I used magic to fashion new spokes, and warp new sections of wheel into shape. The metal sockets took a bit more of an effort however, having to carefully bend them back into proper form without exacerbating the tears. Using a combination of pure force and an application of a concentrated fire spell, I was able to reforge them anew. 
The axel offered its own particular test, as we had no lumber present that was long enough from which to extract a new shaft. I considered a mending spell, but it’s restorative power was limited. Once broken, the integrity of a thing was never the same again, and the fracture would only return. 
We discussed the possible resolutions to the issue, which included using an extra spoke joint to bond the ends together, hewing a new one from one of the lateral board from the cart itself, and butchering an orchid tree for the material. 
The hour became late in the day, and we decided that come the morning we would sacrifice one of the untended trees in the far field for its useful timber. Despite my insistence that I be allowed to follow-though on my promise to have the wagon serviceable by nightfall, Huckleberry would hear none of it, releasing me from my pledge with a perceptible degree of annoyance. As the night began to creep over the sky, dinner was on the verge of being served when he showed me to the house, and allocated a chair for me to use at the table. 
Deadwood, who I had not seen since first arriving, made his way into the kitchen at a pace to rival that of wind erosion. In youth his fur might have been more lustrous, his mane more handsome, but now his coat was a faded black and his locks reduced a wisps of dull white. His cutie mark was that of an old tree, branches bare and posture gnarled. What talent this avatar could have signified would forever remain a mystery to me. He took a seat on my side of the rectangular table, sparing an unimpressed glance to acknowledge my existence. 
Next, little Jonahgold and Sunnybrook came running in, their source of adolescent energy inexhaustible. The twins were a matching set, Jonahgold having a light tan coat with brown hair, his sister the inverse with the mane being a beige tone and her body a shade of hazel. Laughing in delight of some playful antic, they entered the room and rounded the table twice before a sharp warning from Honeycrisp sent them into their seats opposite myself and Deadwood. 
The children gazed at me with wide eyes, still apparently fascinated by the stranger in their home. 
“Hey mister…” Jonahgold asked. “Is it true… you was deeeead?” The words were steeped with an air of mystery and trepidation. 
“Quite close enough.” I said, enjoying the innocent wonder of the two. “Wasn’t the first time.”
“You was brought here by that Hex fella!” Taken by the excitement, Sunnybrook stood up in her chair and pointed to me with a hoof. “They say he can do all sorts’ah unnatural things, like talk to the dead!”

While I hadn’t seen any such necrophonic abilities on display during my short experience with the stallion, I wouldn’t have been surprised. 
“Oh really?” I teased. “I wonder what the dead have to talk about?” 

“Now where’d you two hear such nonsense?” Honeycrisp barked. Setting a plate of fresh baked biscuits on the table. “Fillin’ yer head with all sorts of crazy ideas!” 

“Don’t get all a fluster darling.” Huckleberry said, amused by how serious his wife was taking it. “You know how gossip spreads like a brushfire, ‘specially concerns a fella like Hex.” 

“I know.” She apologized. “I just don’t much like ponies saying such things about him, after all he did for us.” 

Honeycrisp was starting the chore of bringing the pots and pans of food over to the table, so I reached out with my magic and carried them over myself. It was mostly a chivalrous gesture, but I also used the opportunity to pose my own question. 
“About Hex…” I cut in. “What was it that indebted you to him? If it’s not too personal a thing to ask.” 
Husband and wife traded careful glances as she sat down at the opposite end. 	

“Let’s us save that fer tomarrah, Wanderlust.” Huckleberry said, preparing his plate. “The dinner table ain’t no place fer that distasteful sorta conversation.” 

“Awww!” With a joint wail of disappointment, the children sunk into their seats. An amusing thing to observe how mysterious and alluring they found such things, the slightest whiff of the taboo as desirous to them as gold is to a griffin. 

Dinner time must have been an appointment to set one’s clock by, because the sound of the door opening in the front of the house was followed by swift hoofsteps hurrying to the kitchen. Mesquite, the elder son of my host couple, entered the room panting as if he had run the whole way home and hastily removed his hat. He was young but brawny, muscles acquired by years of labor rippling under light brown fur and a copper-colored mane 
“Mama, Daddy, I know I’m late, I just-” 

“Boy, where were you?” His father demanded. “Gone all afternoon, coming in here like you runnin’ from trouble. Sit’cho behind down.” 

Mesquite tossed his stetson onto the hatrack in the corner mid-stride towards his seat. Settling next to the twins, he tried to continue his explanation. 
“I was fixin’ to get the wagon out the hole, honest, but thought best to go get the new parts first, so I went to Rock Creek-” 

“You went to Rock Creek?” An incredulous Huckleberry blurted. “You went all the way there for some spare parts? What about Ole’ Grey Burr? He must have a few pieces laying around.” 

Mesquite became quiet for a moment. “Well I didn’t account fer that.” He said softly, realizing he could have saved himself a fair amount of hassle. 

“He went to Rock Creek to go see his mare-friend!” Sunnybrook exclaimed before she and Jonahgold erupted into mischievous giggles. 

The older sibling turned scarlet with a mix of anger and embarrassment. “You hush up ya little troublemaker!” 

“Mare-friend? Are they talking about that florist girl?" Honeycrisp’s inquisition seemed to render her son fearful to respond, and in his hesitation to answer, confirmed her suspicions. 
“Son, what I tell you about ah’flirtin’ with that pegasus? Rich girls like that treat boys like a dress, got a new one on every Sunday.”

“Mama, Holly ain’t like that! She’s a sweet gal, ain’t got a connivin’ bone in her body.” I watched Mesquite’s expression soften as her name passed his lips, the way his face relaxed and ire dissipated. A pony’s first love was an aperture through which they could never retreat. Religious in its experience, it served to fill the breast of a young stallion with the consciousness of inner power necessary to ascend from the innocence of foalhood to the mastery of adulthood. For children do not understand the depth of power love wields, that it can raise ponies to the greatest acts of legend, or lead whole nations to ruin. I should know. 
“You don’t even know her.”

“I know the type.” Honeycrisp declared with certainty as she began fixing plates for the twins. “And you don’t need to know a rattlesnake’s gonna bite you to steer clear of it.” 

“Now that just ain’t right Moma!” The boy cried, thumping his hooves on the table top as he stood. “It ain’t right that you go associatin’ miss Holly to some slitherin’ serpent! I cant abide it” 

Uh-oh. Another of the multitudinous offspring of young love, was the propensity of downright foolishness. Huckleberry was certainly not going to entertain that particular hobgoblin tonight. He slammed a hoof on the table, hard enough to jostle every plate and glass. 
“Boy, you gonna abide whatever your momma tells you to abide!” 

Their was a tension in the room that had reached a hushed tightness, such that one could pluck it like a guitar string. The twins had clamped their mouths shut, staring wide eyed at their father. Beside me, it sounded as if Deadwood was managing some phlegm in the back of his throat, he must have had something to say. Honeycrisp was stunned, which gave me the impression that this act of defiance was not something she was accustomed to dealing with. I tried to shrink back in my seat, keeping even the noise of my breathing as silent as possible to avoid reminding them I was present. 

Mesquite however, emboldened by the passion in his heart and the heat of the moment, was also perhaps unwilling to be cowed by the specter of his father’s wrath. Instead of yielding to authority, he turned to his father with a brave face, nervous, but still standing his ground. 
“If some stallion had compared momma to a snake, you wouldn’t make no reservations about defending her honor!”

Huckleberry rose from his seat, his countenance darkened. There is a point in a young stallions life when he will challenge his father’s power. They must, I always thought. Primarily as a gesture to establish themselves as a sovereign actor, and no longer under the childlike subservience to his parents. Secondly, at least in my case, it was a display to your father that they had in fact raised a son of character, of moral courage enough to stand up for himself or for something they believed important. In a way, it was the fruition of all the father’s labors and lessons manifesting in a single act of defiance, casting off the vassalage. 
“Well miss Holly ain’t your wife, and she don’t need no son of mine defending her honor! Now you apologize to your momma!” 

“Daddy, I-!” 

The explosion tore into the house suddenly, drowning out Mesquite’s rebellion with a roar of shattering wood and an ear-splitting blast. There was not even time enough for me to cast a protective shield around us. As best I can discern from memory, as muddled a memory as it might be, the explosion originated in another room from somewhere behind Deadwood and Huckleberry. A storm of wooden shrapnel and various bits of household items engulfed us as the wall partitioning us from the greater force was nonetheless perforated, several beams fractured by the tremendous pressure. 

It was over in a heartbeat, but all of us seemed to be trapped in a portrait, time itself brought to a halt as we recovered from the concussive force. I recall prying my face off the table and seeing Deadwood next to me still slumped over, and Huckleberry with a reactive leg thrown over his head. My ears were ringing, but I’m very sure I started to scream for everypony to get out of the house. Honeycrisp and Mesquite each secured one of the twins, and I took Deadwood in my magic. With Huckleberry leading the way, we raced out into the night air. 

“What happened!?” I vaguely heard Mesquite cry out as my hearing returned. He relinquished Sunnybrook to his mother who also held Jonahgold, and went to his father’s side as they gawked at the sight of a quarter of their house beginning to burn. 

While still in my control, I detected a heartbeat in the patriarch. The old stallion was alive yet, but he lacked the constitution to withstand the punishment of the blast. I lay him on the ground with great care, doing what I could to detect any further injury. 

“What’s that?” Honeycrisp wondered through her tears. She pointed a hoof towards one of the rocks that formed a perimeter of the yard, where a white cloth was pinned to it’s surface under the weight of a smaller stone. It’s position was no accident, as the broad length of it was facing towards the house. 

I rose from where I knelt at Deadwood’s side, Huckleberry and Mesquite turning to see for themselves the unexpected article. Scrawled across the fabric in black paint, was presented a very ominous and unambiguous letter that we could read by the light of the fire. 


GET 
OUT!



On a ridge overlooking the farm, several figured cloaked by the darkness watched from a distance as the Appaleachia family gathered outside their burning home. 

“Come on boys.” A hard voice said, the fiery light of a cigarette momentarily illuminating his cold blue eyes gazing out from under the brim of a white stetson. “I reckon they got the message.” 

He turned to leave, the others following suit. The sharp jangle of spurs drifting into the night.